


this is the journal of oikawa tooru. if found - do what you wish

by flyingslipper



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen, Not Beta Read, POV First Person, kinda open ended, this is basically me projecting to oikawa and not having any sort of direction, vent fic kinda, you can decide what has happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26049580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingslipper/pseuds/flyingslipper
Summary: They said that healing is like a flower, and that it needs time and care to flourish, but healing isn’t a seed growing in the dirt that you can eventually make bloom; it is a stick broken in half, and you can only choose one half to take with you.
Kudos: 4





	this is the journal of oikawa tooru. if found - do what you wish

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhh so i had no plans to publish this but mia (a gremlin who i choose not to trust as a beta reader) read this and forced me to so yeah
> 
> this is honestly just a vent fic that i started to write as a first pov (i never write in such manner but journal type stories have always intrigued me) and the poor person who was chosen to be the one who i projected all of my thoughts and feelings was oikawa. you can draw your own conclusions on what has happened.
> 
> apologizing for all the grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language and this is literally the first draft so it's nothing pretty and might not make sense ahaha

THIS IS THE JOURNAL OF OIKAWA TOORU. IF FOUND - DO WHAT YOU WISH

  
  


Things that I knows to be true, in ~~no particular~~ order:

  * I am sorry that I left so suddenly
  * The roots will always pull me back home
  * 17th of August leaves a bittersweet aftertaste
  * Coffee tastes better without sugar nowadays
  * The mountains don’t overwhelm me anymore
  * It’s the organic whole milk that makes milk bread great
  * I made up my mind long ago



  
  


The first thing I usually see nowadays when I open my eyes is the sky. Sometimes it’s the morning sky in its pale blue and yellow glory; other times it’s the evening sky, when its painted colors of red and yellow as it tries to mimic the warmth the sun brought during the day. I no longer blink in confusion before I remember that I fell asleep on the meadow.

There are times when I just… lay there and stare at the sky. Sometimes I see a flock of birds flying as they soar towards the light, and I can’t help but wonder what they will find at the end. Will they find the light I’ve been looking for? I hate seeing them, though I guess I’ve always harbored hate towards birds all my life. They’ve always had what I haven’t; wings to fly, to reach higher. There are no roots strong enough to climb high to see what’s beyond the horizon - to see what is on the other side of the wall. 

There used to be a time though, when I believed I could fly like the others. 

What’s more, the birds are way too often colored black and white, but that’s on me for living in a place near the ocean. Well, I say “near”, but I honestly haven’t seen the big body of water since the day I arrived here -- even on the times when I’ve traveled the mountains surrounding me, I have always kept my back to it. The wind from the ocean is still too painful for me to accept. It has traveled from the cities I once walked the streets of, carrying only broken echoes of my name. 

_‘Tooru’_ I’ve heard it ask, _‘Where are you? Come home’_

I used to be so sure of it- what _home_ meant. I-- I don’t think I do anymore. The world doesn’t make sense anymore, it confuses me, and all I know is: setters are the orchestrators of the team, and for the team to win the setter needs to have a solid footing when they stand on the court. I can barely stand up straight with confidence anymore.

When that day happened, it tore a hole in me. It will never fully heal, the roots may fill in the gap, but it will never be like it was before. I used to believe that when something bad happened, the best way to handle all the pain was to go to the gym, to set and serve the ball until I couldn’t move my legs. That will not work anymore, not after what happened. 

Volleyball is supposed to be about the connection, it’s the game of life and excitement; it’s supposed to be about the present and what you’re going to do when you stand on the court, finding out who you truly are and what you’re made of -- who you’re gonna be in the future. It’s not supposed to make you feel like thorns are squeezing the air out of your lungs. 

I used to have this fear, that I was never going to make it. I’ve never been lucky; I’m not a genius and never will be -- I’ve never had anything handed to me, I’ve always had to work through blood, sweat and tears to get what the others achieved naturally. I was afraid that my best will never be good enough, but as awful it is to realize you’ll never be good enough, losing the joy in volleyball is much worse. 

Before That Day happened, I remember a time when we were kids in high school. It was so long ago, but I remember that we took a walk after practice through the city, and it was summer and it was late; the sun had already started setting. We watched as a plane flew over us in the sky, and I remember he told me… 

Something I can’t remember. 

I don’t think it was that important, but to me it was everything. I can’t remember what he said, but it strengthened the trust and belief I had of the future in a way I remember -- however, can’t grasp any longer. 

The memory is like an old picture; I remember the scene, but the feelings are just out of reach. And I believed him in the way he believed in me; undoubting and unrelenting. The belief was the thing that used to push me forward. 

Playing volleyball requires belief; faith in the team, faith in yourself. After that day, I no longer trust myself to set the ball. Even if I were able to play in some sort of manner again, I can never have that belief back -- without it, I can’t play like I used to. 

So I came here. I know others will look at it like I ran off suddenly without a warning, without a goodbye, but from the moment I was told what life was going to be like going forward, I already knew what to do. Everyone… they tried their best. _‘You still have a future. You can still do so much, Tooru.’_ They offered me support and help, even when they were hurt too. 

They said that healing is like a flower, and that it needs time and care to flourish, but healing isn’t a seed growing in the dirt that you can eventually make bloom; it is a stick broken in half, and you can only choose one half to take with you.

The last piece of the domino, or the finger that finally pulled the trigger, was the world itself. It goes on, no matter what happens; no matter how awful you feel, no matter how much pain you’re in, no matter how big your loss is -- it goes on. I now take comfort in that fact, but then… I couldn’t stand the fact that everyone can go back to their normal lives when I’ve lost the thing that made me wake up every morning. 

I suppose it still does hurt me. 

  
  


I came here then; I knew I needed to get away, and how I always talked about wanting to get a place somewhere in Hokkaidō where I could be all alone, so I came to Kyūshū. Buying this large piece of land in a remote village wasn’t tough; leaving the old faces behind wasn’t tough. Hiding the records of everything, concealing my identity while traveling was tough; everyone knows a face that’s appeared on the national and international stage.

It’s been… a while since I came here. I had my phone with me till Hiroshima where I threw it into a recycling cart. What surprised me the most was the indifferent feeling I had to all of the worried messages and missed calls. I had thought that at least the ones from my family would hurt, but even when I saw Takeru’s calls, all I did was continue staring out of the window. 

This house that I live in now used to only be wooden floors and walls, but I had prepared myself. It took me months to get the kitchen to look like I wanted it to while the bedroom only took me a few weeks. First winter was tough; I had to work on the furnace day in, day out, but I was able to get even that working -- I’ve finally gotten this place to feel like I belong here. 

Doing everything by myself wasn’t easy at first though, and even nowadays I sometimes struggle with it. I’ve found comfort in baking and cooking; I can’t even remember what store bought food tastes like - especially the milk bread. The village is quite far away, though I’ve now grown accustomed to the distance enough to walk it even when it’s raining, but the people there are kind. They don’t seem to recognize me, and if they do, they have not said anything about it, which I’m grateful for. 

This village produces the majority of the goods locally, or they get them from the neighboring villages. I get my food supplies from different sellers for a cheap price since I help them in any way I can; fixing leaking roofs, filling up holes, painting buildings, giving them whatever I’ve baked too much of. 

I had always dreamed of living a simple life like this, but I wasn’t supposed to be under thirty while doing it. Or maybe I did once dream of living my whole life like this, but there were supposed to be two people sleeping on the bed instead of one. 

During my time here, there have been two bodies warming the bed every now and then, but they have always left in the end -- they’ve had to go back to their normal lives, and I’ve never asked them to stay. They have never made me want to ask them to stay. 

I’ve learned to like this life. I don’t think about the life I used to have; I didn’t bring any pictures with me - I didn’t even bring anything from my past life here-- not even my old jersey. I… I’m here because I’m just trying to find it; the trust I had back in high school. The belief I had in myself when things were right. My roots grew deep into the streets I used to walk when I was a child, and the roots will never let go of me completely; they’ve already started to pull me, to bring me back home, but I’m not ready. The time isn’t right yet, and I’m not sure when it is. I just know this is where I need to be; here I will find the belief I had, the trust in the connection I used to believe wholeheartedly in. 

So, to whom it may concern; what I used to love is what I want to find again. I want to be able to find the strength to stand on my own two feet again and breathe. I will return home, but until then…

Thank you. I’m sorry.


End file.
